


At Her Service

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Helmstroll Kink, Helmstrolls, Oral Sex, Quadrant Vacillation, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: When Equius doesn't give her enough attention, Aradia finds ways to make sure he ends up where he belongs.





	At Her Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> So there's some iffy dynamics due to the hemospectrum here, as well as the helmstroll dynamic. Equius doesn't explicitly consent when they vacillate pitch, because that'd be a strange move, but this is very much an established relationship and they're both glad to be there. If any of that squicks, read with caution!
> 
> Thank you to primtheamazing for commissioning me, I really hope this is the right AO3 account!

‘You said she’d be suitable.’

Equius kneels, his eyes respectfully on the ground, and doesn’t interrupt.

‘We could have found a goldblood. We _should_ have found a goldblood. But _you said_ , Megido would be just as good, if not better. What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘Without opportunity to diagnose at the site, I would suspect a problem with her docking,’ Equius says. 

The captain glares at the top of Equius’s head, but doesn’t use the hafted axe that she keeps across her knee as she takes audience. Frustratingly, Equius seems to have “the touch” when it comes to their frequently malfunctioning helmstroll and he also stays so firmly in line with the correct protocol that it’s difficult to find a reason to cull him. 

Of course, his blueness and her violetness was reason enough, but the paperwork always goes easier if there’s a clear line of fault. And the captain doesn’t really want to cull him, anyway.

‘Fix it,’ she hisses, letting seadweller vocalisations come through more than usual. 

Equius bows before he scurries away, as much as a troll of his size could be said to scurry.

Less than five minutes later, he has cleared the baffled maintenance trolls from the helmsblock and is alone with his vacillating matesprit-kismesis. Aradia grins, showing her awareness of the surroundings in a way she can only do when it’s just her and Equius.

‘You got me into trouble,’ Equius murmurs.

‘It’s been over a week,’ Aradia says. ‘You were already in trouble.’

Equius frowns disapprovingly. He messages Aradia every chance he gets and schedules their physical meetings as often as he can without arousing suspicion. Or, suspicion in the wrong trolls. The lowbloods who work in the helmsblock know that pilots are still trolls and cover for them. They find the idea of a blueblood being so devoted to a rustblood romantic. 

‘Come here,’ Aradia says. 

Equius obeys, like he always does. She’s docked in such a way that her head is level with his. He kisses her as gently as he can, hands barely stroking over her curled horns. 

‘On your knees, Equius,’ she orders.

Equius unzips her jumpsuit as he kneels, exposing smooth grey skin, rust red nipples and grubscars and the ends of the fuschia cords. She’s easy to undress, easy to access. She needs to be. 

He reaches into his pocket and takes out the plastic pail he’d slipped in there earlier. Through careful design, it could be folded into a flat circle the size of his palm, and by twisting it just so it burst into a respectable size pail, so long as it wasn’t drone season.

‘I didn’t give you permission to use that,’ Aradia says cheerfully.

‘But …’

‘I know you’re not questioning your maid.’

Equius hangs his head even though she has no weapon to press to the nape of his neck and no way to free her arms to do so. His deference is so sweet, and Aradia has never felt the need to be _mean_ to be effective at this. He doesn’t need a firm hand to bow down. 

‘It’s okay, we won’t make extra work for the lowbloods. I know that’s what you’re worried about. But you’re going to catch it all in your mouth. And if you don’t, you’re going to lick up what you missed.’

Equius looks up at her and nods solemnly. Aradia grins again, enjoying his compliance. 

‘C’mon, sweetness, I can’t exactly reach it myself!’

Equius shuffles forwards on his knees and presses his face to the softness of her belly, breathing her skin in. The tip of his unbroken horn grazes against her breast and sends sensation running down his spine. He nuzzles down until he reaches the crease of her sheath and mouths along it. 

Aradia makes a frustrated noise and flexes her legs like she’d stand on her tiptoes if she weren’t suspended like a starfish in midair. Equius doesn’t make her order him again, he dips his head deeper, tilting back to keep his horns safely away, and licks the length of her nook. She sighs and Equius’s cheeks flush blue with the unsaid praise. 

He licks again, making his tongue flat and wide so that he can stimulate her indiscriminately. When he starts to taste her genetic material budding up stronger, he licks with more purpose, pushing apart the folds of her nook with his tongue. 

She keens when he starts to suck gently along the outside of her nook. His intimacy with her is hard won through dedicated service. She’s perfect heat, burning through her lowblooded life far too fast, but Equius can have her for now, and he can make every second she has safe and loved. 

Of course, it isn’t enough for any troll to just be loved, and she’s earned his hate as well. She does so now, when multiple fuschia tendrils wrap around Equius’s arms and legs and pull him up to her level.

‘Was I not performing satisfactorily?’ Equius asks. He can’t reach to wipe her from his mouth, so he licks. Her eyes follow the movement. 

‘I’ve had enough of playing the doll,’ she says. 

She cocks her head to the side and the tendrils lift Equius further like puppet strings. He fights the urge to resist, and she sees.

‘Uh-uh,’ she says. ‘Can’t be destroying empire property! These came from the royal lusus herself, did you know? Wouldn’t you be in so much trouble if you broke even a single tentacle?’

Equius growls, deep in his throat. He likes it when she bosses him around, likes that even her pet-name implies her inferiority to him just as every last scrap of her does, but he hates it when she gets in these moods. When he isn’t playing at being her subordinate, she’s making it true.

And she never stops at just displaying her dominance. 

The tentacles writhe over him, shredding his clothes to tiny scraps. He growls louder, and his arms flex with the impulse to retaliate, but he can’t, she’s right, he can’t. 

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I’ll let you use the bucket to cover yourself!’

One of Equius’s fangs cracks under the pressure of not losing his control. And he was doing so well, almost had a full set of unbroken teeth. They can’t grow fast enough, even though he’s grown out of his childhood habit of grinding them as he works. Now it’s only Aradia that pushes him this far. 

Her tentacles move over him, and though she can’t feel it traditionally, they provide more feedback than anything else in the ship, even her physical body. Her existence is a strange one. She takes her frustration and her gratitude out on Equius. 

The tentacles part his legs and squirm wetly over his nook and wastechute. Another crawls across his belly, wraps around his back and settles its suckers on a grubscar. He hisses and growls and provides his own restraint. Her tentacles, while strong, are no match for him really. 

‘Oh, you’re an obsidian _dream_ , aren’t you,’ she purrs. 

She diverts one of the tentacles towards her own nook, out of formality more than anything, to let him see her pleasuring herself. The real pleasure is listening to his fierce growl turn into a downright _adorable_ squeak as her tentacles get serious about burrowing into him. 

‘This is undignified,’ he gasps.

‘Melanite, you were just gonna suck me until i came and then lick up the spill. You’re just fussing because you’re a baby about your wastechute.’

Aradia pulls him closer to her so she can rub her nose condescendingly against his. He snaps his fangs at her, but she drags him back out of range.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t like being pailed in the ass. It was almost the opposite, if anything. 

His bulge spills out of his sheath all in one movement and he groans as the pressure is released. Aradia grins at the sight. She didn’t even touch him there, and usually trolls require at least a little external stimulation to free their bulges. She suspects it has something to do with how _large_ his is. 

She pulls him forward just by the hips and their bulges tangle automatically, his drawn to her heat and hers wrapping around his the second it's in reach. While she isn’t exactly on the plankton end of the scale herself, he's so big she can't even get around him twice stretched to her thinnest. 

Not that it matters, she now has two tentacles in his nook and one in his ass and he's shaking with the need to release. She reaches up with a tentacle and taps the back of his hand where he was clenching it too tight. He doesn't need to add broken bones to the list of incriminating evidence for this liaison. 

‘Maid,’ he says, his usually quiet voice strangled and distorted with pleasure. ‘Please, allow me to …’

‘Tell me you hate me,’ she says.

‘I hate you,’ he gasps. ‘I’ll hate you until stars stop burning, maid, please!’

‘Come.’

Equius spills, the genetic material draining from his engorged bulge so that it can retract back into his sheath and dripping from his nook. His genebladder spasms on nothing, but his body is still satisfied. 

If she felt the need to earn his hate blacker than it already was, Aradia might push him to come again and come dry. But she lowers him back to the ground. 

‘Do you want to serve me?’ she asks, withdrawing her tentacles from where they left puckered marks all over his skin.

‘Yes, maid,’ he says. He staggers forward, but she shakes her head and he stops. She looks down at the floor, where indigo is splattered across the dark tile. 

‘Thank you, maid,’ he says. He lowers himself to his knees and starts to lick the mess he made clean. She spills her own pleasure just as he finishes, and makes him clean that too.


End file.
